


You Can't Con a Con Man

by d_aia



Series: Try [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Original Professors, Original Students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or Why You Shouldn't Mess with Tom Riddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Con a Con Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the known characters or locations! 
> 
> Apparently, there are people in canon that would've been teaching at the time, but I'm afraid I've just discovered them. Plus, they are good teachers and will not fit in with my wacky representation.
> 
> IMPORTANT: You need to read the first part for this one to make sense.

Tom kept looking between the paper—with its blaring title ‘Expelled Student Saves Egypt’, complete with picture depicting some sort of cursed sand dragon being chased by a familiar figure atop a Blazing Desert Tail—and Harry’s letter. While the letter was all sunshine, and smiles, and peace, and bloody puppies, the picture—and its protagonists—was fierce, and frightening, and intimidating, and wild. The article went on to explain that Harry, after being found as a fraud hiding at Hogwarts, took his NEWTs and together with having a hand in destroying a wanna-be Dark Lord got hired as a curse breaker in Egypt.

Apparently a curse was a lot stronger than the curse breakers thought, took the form of the dragon and escaped towards civilization in order to create mayhem and destroy everything in its path. That was when Harry had the brilliant idea to jump on an undomesticated dragon of his own and rush after it. What’s more incredible was that the bastard managed to somehow fly the wild beast, stop the curse before reaching anything but dunes and have two broken plus a punctured lung to show for it. Now, the damage was minimal—what could have been a catastrophe ended with a night of uncomfortable sleep for Harry—but Tom couldn’t help but wince when he read over the passage.

Looking again between the paper and the letter, Tom sighed and let his head drop on the table with a thunk.

“Hello, handsome,” Larissa said cheerfully, sitting down next to him. . It was perhaps a bit odd to see a student from another house sitting down to have breakfast, but Tom knew most teachers adored him and most students feared him or lusted after him—nobody dared to say anything the first time it happened or since. As it should be.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t lift his head. They were in the Great Hall, having breakfast, his lovely, fascinating Gryffindor girlfriend—Larissa Potter, yes, he was dating Harry’s relative, her brother being Harry’s grandfather; yes, he was a prick—by his side and all he could think about was how beautiful Harry looked in that photograph. He was thinking in circles: how mad he was at being lied to, how it warmed his heart that Harry had tried to protect him, how Harry’s eyes glittered with determination, how his lips thinned in concentration, how his entire demeanor had an—to be honest—expected result on Tom’s body, and again how absolutely wrathful he was at Harry for leaving things out in his letter.

Larissa ducked her head and kissed his cheek. “What’s this?” She noticed the papers then. “Is this a letter from Harry?” More shuffling of papers. “Is that _Harry_?! On _a dragon_?! On a _wild_ dragon?!” Larissa asked, shrill and incredulous.

A brunette with untamable hair and clear blue eyes, Larissa knew Harry and the whole scandal surrounding him, as did the whole school and whoever happened to read the paper. When Harry was forced to leave the school they agreed to part ways, relationship-wise. Harry’s arrival and his repeated warnings meant changes for Tom—such as an interest in a new companion, Julian Rowle, a shy but brilliant Ravenclaw—and with Harry gone, Tom had wanted to keep that novelty in his life. Brave, brash, affectionate Larissa seemed a good fit—the fact that she was a Potter was an added advantage and a reminder that Tom was still Tom no matter what happened.

Pushing forward as always, Larissa tried to make sense of the papers. “This is a letter from Harry. You got it… this morning. And the article is about events that happened… three days ago. What’s the problem?”

Tom lifted his head for a couple of seconds, then brought it back down to abuse the table some more. “Read them,” he said muffled by his current position.

“ _Oh_ ,” Larissa interjected. She sounded horrified. “Oh!”

“What?” Julian changed tables and landed with no grace whatsoever on Tom’s other side. “Why does everything interesting happen around you, Tom?”

“Read,” Larissa told Julian, followed by a noise like she was pushing papers into his hands.

“Fine.” Julian’s word started out confident but trailed off as he was already reading.

There was a small interlude of blessed silence. Unexpectedly, a laugh pierced the general noise of the Great Hall. Everyone was amazed by the sound seeing as Julian wasn’t exactly known for his attracting any kind attention—a couple of people near Tom even jumped at the unexpected sound. Tom could feel the vibrations in the bench. Julian continued, undisturbed, though he did lower his voice slightly. How much that helped in a completely silent Great Hall, remained to be seen.

“Dear Tom, I am well,” Julian began, quoting Harry letter. He looked at the photograph. “Obviously,” he sniggered.

Tom sighed.

Julian went on, his eyes widening at the ridiculousness that lay before them. “Here is quiet…” he paused, overwhelmed by laughter, “and a bit bor—boring.” His chuckles soon became guffaws again and he gave up on trying to contain them. He talked in between peals of laughter. “To end, I would… like… to assure you that… I—I am in gre—gr—great health.” Julian took a huge breath in. “And I am a—a—a—as safe,” his voice cracked, “as possible.”

A chortle escaped Larissa as well, though Tom could tell she was doing her very best to be supportive. Julian was, confirming his suspicions, much ruder than anyone might have expected. Their laughter didn’t bother Tom, surprisingly enough, especially considering what his reaction might have been not even a year earlier. But a lot of things happened since and he didn’t begrudge their amusement; he knew they weren’t laughing at him, but at Harry—a difference he wouldn’t have made by himself.

Someone was guilty, though, guilty for telling the Ministry and the press about Harry’s real age. Guilty for Harry not being in the castle and relatively safe. Hell, guilty for Tom not being there when Harry was injured. And Tom knew who that person was, though they were never able to prove it.

Dumbledore.

Harry tried to explain how he wasn’t sure that Dumbledore behavior was bad. That he had his reasons for doing everything he did. That he was always thinking of the greater good. That his actions had the lumbering figure of a war shadowing them. Harry, himself, wasn’t feeling too well at the end. He had awful nightmares, found himself avoiding certain hallways, food became optional. It was like once his job was done and Tom understood his warnings, Harry could let go.

Only letting go for Harry wasn’t pretty or peaceful and until he started seeing a Mind Healer that summer things didn’t get any better. With Harry not certain about how to proceed, Dumbledore and his traitorous ways fell on the wayside and Tom was caught between helping Harry prepare for his NEWTs or combat his Combat Stress Reaction—which served as a warning wrapped up in guilt, because it mostly consisted of Harry telling him horror stories about Tom’s would-be actions.

Now, it was October and—though Tom had planned on waiting until Harry was more comfortable in his position as curse breaker before reopening the Dumbledore conversation—things had just changed drastically. Harry had been injured and Tom had not been there. Harry could have died. And Tom would have found out days later. Dumbledore would pay for it, there was no doubt about it. Tom wasn’t interested in the greater good or some such nonsense, those were Harry’s reasons, Tom happened to think he should include in the planning stages the one who Dumbledore raised to die. But not anymore.

When Tom lifted his head, the mirth disappeared abruptly from both Julian and Larissa’s faces. It was almost hilarious. He didn’t know what they could see on his face, but judging by his thoughts it wasn’t the sanest expressions. Looking for a quill, he scribbled ‘Twat’ on the picture of the article after making a copy. He sent the edited picture with the return eagle that they used for intercontinental flight and folded the copy carefully to put it in his pocket.

“Tom?” Julian asked, quiet and unsure.

“See you in Defense,” Tom nonchalantly threw over his shoulder as he walked away from the table. He didn’t glare at the High Table, not wanting Dumbledore to see him coming, but he was furious. What he needed was a plan.

*

Tom’s lips thinned at Harry’s message. The poor eagle looked tired as all hell, but had managed to get back to him the next day at breakfast. He sighed, annoyed.

_Dear Tom,_

_I am sorry._

_When can you get to our fireplace? I know you have a lot of questions and I have to give many explanations, but I really didn't lie to hurt you—know this, if you won’t hear anything else. I’m so sorry. You must know why I lied to you. Still, I’m in the wrong in this, I’m aware of that. You have been there for me when I needed you, you are my friend and you know me, you know all I mean when I say that. Tell me you’ll come eventually and talk._

_Hopefully still yours,_  
 _Harry_

Maybe it’s for the best that Harry couldn’t have thought about a career in politics, his diplomacy was still sub par—even if Tom could not find any particular thing to comment on. He blew out a breath. Tom was still holding on firmly to his annoyance.

However, Tom found himself grabbing a quill to write an answer, which was something he wouldn't have done for anybody else as it constituted at least the possibility of forgiveness. Using the same paper showed symbolically that he expected to hear the words from the man’s mouth; at least he would get some satisfaction knowing Harry would wince at that.

_‘Saturday at five in the afternoon, my time.’_

Tom strengthened as he regarded the paper. He had a little less than a week to have his revenge. _“Still mine Potter, always mine—like I could give you up,”_ he thought viciously. Whether he was vicious toward himself or Harry, Tom didn’t analyze too carefully.

“Yes,” Tom told the eagle firmly, “I have an answer.” When the eagle let out a pathetic shriek and hid its head under a wing, Tom sighed exasperated, but pushed his sausages toward the bird. “Fine, you can go tomorrow after you are refreshed,” he graciously allowed. The eagle shirked happily and started in on his sausages, ravenous. Tom watched it for a couple of seconds and rolled his eyes; he was going soft.

Harry would probably say something full of sentiment with his big green eyes opened wide. It would be something simple that couldn’t be argued with. Maybe something along the lines of ‘he’s a bird Tom, of course you can be soft to a bird’, careful not to call ‘him’ a ‘it’, or ‘why would you want to cruel to a bird?’ or even ‘he can’t betray you, that’s the beast reason I could think of for being soft to him’. Tom had to admit that even in his head it was difficult sometimes to argue with Harry.

Tom reached out and petted the eagle on the head, lightly scratching at the small feathers there. The bird stopped eating, enjoying being petted, even going so far as to lean in Tom’s touch, eyes half closed in bliss. Tom smiled, letting his hand slip naturally down the creature back, allowing it go back to its food. With a squawk it did, but not before bumping Tom’s hand in silent gratitude.

Larissa fell into a seat next to him with a pensive frown. “Is that eagle Harry’s?”

Feeing his eyebrow rise, Tom said simply, “It’s ours.”

With a nod, Larissa smiled bitterly. “I was wondering…” She took a deep breath, “Do you even have an idea of how you look at it?”

Tense, Tom looked from the corner of his eyes at the students sitting close by trying desperately to hide the fact that they were listening avidly. “I like it.”

Larissa laughed a bit, without any real amusement, “No, you don’t. You like the guy you bought it with. It’s always Harry. You still love him.”

“You presume that I ever did,” Tom said coolly. “Can we have this conversation some other time?”

“Some other place perhaps?” Larissa tried to laugh, but she chocked halfway through. She looked around, before she continued in a lower voice, “Do you think I’m stupid? Tom, I’m leaving you, I’m taking all the precautions necessary for my continued survival. Gryffindor though I may be, I’m not suicidal.”

Tom let out an acknowledging noise from the back of his throat. But he could feel the world getting sharper, crisper. This was something he had to handle carefully. When he spoke, he continued at a lower volume, “There’s an inconsistency in your reasoning. If I love Harry so much, why would I be cross with you for leaving me? If I have no interest, why would you assume I would be willing to put the effort into planning against you?” With a small amused smirk tucked in the corner of his lips, he said louder so he could be heard by anyone willing to listen—which was everybody, “Tell me Larissa, doesn’t that seem illogical to you?”

Larissa blushed fiercely. She looked around and saw that the students had given up on trying to hide and were now openly staring. “I’m leaving you,” she hissed.

“Then leave.” Tom made an expansive gesture with his hand. “I’m hardly the first. Besides, you wouldn’t be the only one who falls prey to wanting a bit of fame. I had thought you were not among those who seek it so feverishly. Alas, I was wrong.”

Mouth gaping open, Larissa was horrified. She should have expected Tom to find some way to get out of the situation, but she was foolish when she decided to end their relationship. Tom had no mercy for stupid people. Finally, she got herself under control enough to say, “What fame?”

“That’s the reason you chose a public area to have this discussion, isn’t it?” Tom challenged. She could never admit in front of all their fellow students that she was _afraid_. Even though most of them would sympathize, it would never be something that would occur to her. Sure to assume that she had her reasons for approaching him in public is one thing, but for the words to actually pass her lips… no, that she couldn’t do.

Larissa turned white. “You and Harry deserve each other,” she spit.

Smiling like his patronus, feral and wild, Tom watched her. “Thank you,” he finally said.

Larissa spluttered.

“You just said that the man who saved Egypt deserves me. And that I deserve him. Let’s forget for a second that we aren’t together anymore, that we weren’t at the time you and I started our dalliance—that sounded like a compliment to me,” Tom said innocently.

“The man who saved Egypt lied to you,” Larissa replied. There was venom in her voice. Oh, how unlike a Gryffindor.

“He’s so very sorry.” Tom fluttered the paper in his hand. “I plan to make him beg,” he smirked.

Nostrils flaring, Larissa was enraged. “Bastard.”

“Yes. But you knew _that_ before we started a relationship.” Tom smiled. He extended his arm for the eagle to perch on. “Goodbye, Larissa.”

The eagle’s shriek was his only warning. Tom turned around, his wand already in his hand. He was fast enough to see her getting hit by the curse repelled by his robes. ‘Mucus ad nauseam’ was not conducive to clean clothes. He made a face, disgusted, before he called the eagle back from where it was swooping toward Larissa—the poor bird didn’t need that sort of mess on its talons.

Tapping with two fingers on his collar bone, Tom summoned the eagle to him. It perched delicately on his shoulder. Maybe Harry was on to something when he called ‘it’ a ‘him’. Now that it had proven itself to be useful, it was more like Jörmungandr. Unfortunately, it—he—had the rather unoriginal name Tacitus, given to him by Harry for how silent he wasn’t. The memory made Tom smile fondly.

“Thank you, Tacitus,” crooned Tom. It was more for effect on the masses, but still. Tacitus puffed his chest and preened. Tom laughed—a gentle, soft laugh that made a couple of student look at him in awe—and stroke his feathers.

“Did you not think,” Tom asked Larissa, “that between Harry and me, we would find a way to make our robes impervious?” He shook his head as if disappointed and left. Behind him, the Great Hall exploded in whispers.

*

It was Thursday night and Tom was sleepless. He had figured out a great deal of the details in his plan to take revenge on Dumbledore. But not all; and time was running out.

Tom already had the Veritaserum and had looked up the proper spell to make the thoughts manifest themselves in the air above Dumbledore’s head so he couldn’t tell what potion he had taken. Also, it was useful for Tom’s plan because that spell still permitted the man to lie, only his real thoughts would be revealed by smoky words hanging above his head. Even the spell that made the writing a childish scrawl that glittered so everybody could take it as a prank—at least in the beginning—was found and ready to be used on the Veritaserum with the other spell. What he didn’t have was a way to administer the potion.

Reaching the one-eyed witch statue, he stopped abruptly, remembering.

_They were running down the corridor, when Harry stopped at a statue of a one-eyed witch._

_“I’m going to go to Hogsmeade, catch them unaware by coming from behind,” Harry said breathlessly._

_“And what am I supposed to do?” Tom asked dryly, valiantly keeping his cool._

_“Figure it out,” Harry shrugged, “I’ve got fifty of them. Personally, I’m banking on you coming up with something.” He leaned toward Tom and stole a kiss. “For luck.”_

_Tom growled and fisted Harry’s shirt, bringing him closer for a deep kiss. “We’ll need all the bloody luck in the world.”_

_Harry laughed and saluted by bringing his fingers to his temple. He stopped after casting ‘Dissedium’, looked back at Tom and said simply, “See you.”_

_For the first time in his life—as far he remembered—Tom needed somebody to come back or, at least, be healthy. He cared about Harry, mostly because Harry had taken a chance and treated him with respect. He had understood Tom and at the same time, Harry wasn’t afraid of Tom or certain that he was a monster. Harry had challenged Tom and made it all about the fight, not the result. He was important to Tom and he dearly wished for Harry to come back. But, like Harry, Tom couldn’t actually put it into words. So, he took a page out of Harry’s book. “See you,” he said prompting a gentle smile on Harry’s face before he disappeared down the passage._

_In the end, Tom had figured something out. He created a window in space to where he knew Jörmungandr was staying—based on a spell to create two-way mirrors—and he hissed at the great snake to open his eyes. The wards that were surrounding Tom, not allowing his spells to get out, were useless again a basilisk’s vision. The Bird-Man caught in the middle of a story—about how he wanted to take over DADA classes after he made sure Rootenhaus had an accident, but somebody opening the Chamber of Secrets threw his plans for a loop—simply fell over, dead. It was rather anticlimactic, but Tom was already sprinting towards the entrance doors._

_And there Harry was, bruised and bloodied, holding his left arm oddly, coming towards the castle. He stopped when he saw Tom, gave a wide, bright, grin and then fell to his knees. Tom reached him before long and after inquiring after Harry’s health—he was mostly fine just tired—Tom threw his arms around Harry in a hug. Obviously startled, Harry recovered quickly, hugging back just as desperately._

_Tom didn’t know how long they stood like that. He finally murmured in Harry’s hair, “We’re alright.”_

_Without letting go, Harry whispered back, “Yes, we are.”_

And that right there was why this particular plan was different. Before now, Tom did things for himself, with no other reason than he wanted to; he wanted different things—a trinket, revenge or it was something important to a greater plan. Nothing was particularly urgent; nothing had just one way of doing it. But now, now he had a responsibility. Sure, if this failed he could try again with something else, but the timing wouldn’t be as good. Firstly, Harry would have to put his life in danger again—not that he won’t, but Tom was definitely aiming for the first time it happened, it had greater impact. Secondly, he wanted to do this before he saw Harry. He always knew when Tom was up to something.

And that wasn’t all—Tom wanted it to be perfect. Not so much that it reminded Harry of Voldemort, not so little that it got passed over as an inconvenience for Dumbledore. To be in a public space, to corner Dumbledore, to make him pay for releasing the information on Harry… to make him understand that he couldn’t play with people’s lives like he had with Harry’s. To make it one thing clear for Dumbledore—Tom wouldn’t accept manipulation of any sort.

*

By Friday morning, Tom was exhausted. He had his head cushioned on his arms while he listened to Professor Burk droning on today’s sermon of Muggle Studies—Black Death. A plague, that killed millions of people at a time when there weren’t that many to begin with. She was just reaching on theories that surrounded the origins of the disease. It was pretty interesting, but Tom was simply too tired to keep his head up.

“Thinking about a certain Potter?” Julian asked in a whisper from much closer than Tom expected.

Lazily opening one eye, Tom needed a bit to orient himself. “Why would I think about Harry?”

Julian eyebrows jumped a fraction, while he tried to smother a laugh. “I don’t know what I thinking,” he said opening his mouth as little as possible.

Tom frowned, confused. He waited a few seconds, before deciding that it took too much effort and closed his eye again. “Oh and by the way, can you cover for me tomorrow?”

Grinning wickedly, Julian whispered gleefully, “You’re meeting him, aren’t you?”

Opening his mouth to replay, Tom froze. Professor Burke was telling the class about how fleas—and thus the rodents they nestled in—were thought to be the ones that carried the disease. The worse it got, the more the establishments were falling in disrepair, the more rodents appeared, the worse it got and so on; it was a circle of death.

Julian huffed. “Nefarious plan now, gossip later?”

Smirking hugely, Tom nodded. All traces of tiredness were gone, replaced by the cogs whirling away in his head. “Yessss,” he hissed, almost going by way of Parseltongue.

“Maybe I’ll just stay in the tower for the next few days,” Julian murmured, giving Tom a suspicious glance.

“And miss the fun?” Tom asked in a dark voice.

“You know what Tom,” Julian swallowed, “sometimes you scare the bejesus out of me.”

Suddenly in a good mood, Tom bared his teeth in a sort-of smile. “Only sometimes?” But his good will towards Julian showed not long after in a twitch of his lips.

Julian squinted and leaned back. He studied Tom for a bit then let out a breath. Shaking his head, he laughed silently. “I’ll have my wand. Not that it’ll help me much, but at least while I grip it tight as I lay dying in the most horrible of ways, it’ll be a comfort.” He nodded as if encouraging himself.

*

Mosquitoes.

Thirty or so little vials of Veritaserum, spells already cast, transformed in mosquitoes. They were a nuisance to everybody in Scotland and their appearance wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. Direct toward the teachers—minus Dippet, nobody needed to read his thoughts to know he had no idea what he was doing and Tom rather needed him to be lenient—sit back and enjoy. The real target was Dumbledore, hence the greater dose, but Tom was interested in different degrees what other professors thought—Rootenhaus, for example. Trying to figure out how the man’s mind worked was like trying to navigate a labyrinth with a madman shouting directions and cackling in your ear.

The first victim was Madam Highwood who was very fascinated with Professor Qusio’s goatee. Her thoughts glittered proudly and said, _“This goatee is really a thing of sorcery. Did I just saw it move independently for a second there?”_

Tom softly whistled to Julian and nodded towards the High Table. In the din of the Great Hall it went unheard, but Julian being on the look out for it, followed Tom’s instructions. His eyebrows seemed to fly off his face, before he returned to stare at Tom. ‘You didn’t,’ Julian mouthed gleefully. Tom shrugged. More and more students were noticing and several tentative titters could be heard. Everyone was trying to keep quiet and not draw attention to the words, but that was kind of hard when the professors found themselves the target of hundreds of stares.

Rootenhaus noticed the glittery letters and looked above his own head, just as the potion took effect. _“CHAOS!”_ it blared in all its’ shiny glory. “Oh dear,” laughed Rootenhaus. Following that particular discovery was a truly dazzling exchange of _“HA HA HA!”_ and _“CHAOS!”_ that changed with dizzying frequency.

“Hm,” Tom interjected when he saw Rootenhaus’s thoughts.

“Where you expecting something else?” asked Julian, who had just changed seats, eyes peeled on the High Table in awe.

“It’s Rootenhaus,” Tom shrugged, “I know better than to expect something.”

Professor Burk had a pretty innocent, _“What’s going on?”_ until she looked up and sighed relived. Then it changed into, _“Oh good, I thought they would find out about that time with the chocolate sauce, Will and her desk.”_

At that, Tom felt his eyes widening and he swallowed a violent chuckle. Julian was done with social niceties and out right laughing. As were the majority of students. Next to Professor Burk, sporting the message, _“By Merlin, no!”_ , was none other than Professor Killange—Willow Killange that is—who was desperately pulling on Professor Burk’s robe and pointing upwards. Burk saw it and with a pale face tried to dispel the smoke with her bare hands, all the while looking slightly deranged. The smoke was impervious.

Professor Qusio seemed to realize that, since his thoughts said, _“It’s too late Maude, accept it and let go.”_ It quickly changed into, _“I’m very disappointed in you, Ethel.”_

Madam Highwood—the ‘Ethel’ in Qusio’s thoughts—however, wore proudly her new message, _“Well, that goatee wasn’t your best choice sweetie.”_

But all interest in any of the others disappeared when Tom read what Dumbledore was thinking.

_“RIDDLE!”_ Dumbledore message blared, while the man tried to hide his anger, smiling benevolently at Dippet. “I believe this to be the work of Mister Riddle,” Dumbledore tried to say gently. The message, three times the normal size, contradicted him.

Dippet’s eyes traveled between the word and Dumbledore warily.

“You called?” Tom smiled toothily, standing up and looking toward Dumbledore’s message. “I do have questions, Professor, since you are in a… honest mood.”

Dumbledore’s manner was relaxed as always, but the word grew in size some more. Rootenhaus positively flashed between _“CHAOS!”_ , _“I smell craziness about to happen,”_ and _“HA HA HA!”_. The other professors were showing their confusion, with the quaint addition of Professor Mareuss who had a very eloquent thought displayed, _“…”_.

“The only question you should have is ‘how much time you will I spend in detention’?” Dumbledore chastised him fondly. Only, his thoughts said differently. _“You little prick,”_ glittered cheerfully, before rapidly changing into, _“You little trouble maker.”_ It was too little, too late; the Professors seemed especially astonished. Well, except Rootenhaus. He was watching it all with amusement.

With his eyes obviously fixed on the message, Tom gave Dumbledore a grin. “Why would I get detention? I didn’t do it. If you have the evidence that I did, I have no doubt that I’ll be expelled. It’s not worth my education. But now that it’s there, I find that I have to ask you: Do you know who leaked the story about Harry Potter, former student?”

_“Yes,”_ appeared immediately after. Dumbledore blinked, keeping his eyes closed a little too much to be motivated entirely by necessity. “I have my suspicions, though I do not think this a discussion that should take place in this company.”

“You don’t have anything to hide, don’t you Professor? None of your colleagues left, after all.” Tom waited for a bit, the tension palpable in the Great Hall. “Who?”

This time, Dumbledore was in sync with his real thoughts, _“Somebody who had the safety of this school in mind.”_

But Tom wasn’t giving up. “They must have at least one name.”

Dumbledore remained silent, but above him names flashed— _“Albus”_ and _“Percival”_ and _“Wulfric”_ and _“Brian”_ and _“The Conqueror of Grindewald”_.

“Dumbledore!” shouted Dipped affronted and was subsequently ignored.

“Why?” Tom asked. The question echoed coldly in the completely silent Great Hall. “Why did you do it?”

_“Because he was befriending you,”_ hung above Dumbledore’s head for a moment. The second message was pretty damning too, once he had seen the first, _“Because he was out of control.”_

Tom was merciless, “Out of whose control?”

Above Rootenhaus appeared, _“He’s got you now, Dumbledore.”_

Finding his backbone somewhere, Dumbledore answered holding his chin up and not looking at his fellow professors, “Mine.” Once again, the spoken word matched the written one. “It is not a new concept, that teachers should be able to control the students.”

_“Controlling bastard,”_ flashed above Professor Burke.

“That may very well be,” Tom allowed. He wanted Dumbledore to admit to something though, so Tom continued, “In what way did he defy you?”

The words flashed too fast for even Tom to read. “In a multitude of ways,” Dumbledore said calmly.

Tom nodded. “Any one in particular?”

_“You,”_ stood proud and tall above his head. “He had a particular troubling relationship with you,” Dumbledore granted with reticence. “I thought it harmed both of you.”

_“Poor dears,”_ read Madam Highwood’s thoughts.

“By defending the school on multiple occasions and defeating a budding Dark Lord,” Tom said incredulously. Before more words appeared above Dumbledore’s head, Tom continued, “So you leaked the news and had him kicked out. I wonder,” he paused, “how is that working for you, Professor?”

“Very well,” answered Dumbledore gently. However, above him the words told another story. _“Cut your losses.”_

Tom’s reply was dry. “Clearly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want to leave comments or just want to say 'hi' you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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